from The Code of the Woosters
by PG Wodehouse (1938)
‘Oh, Bertie, you remind me of Rudel.’
The name was new to me.
‘Rudel?’
‘The Seigneur Geoffrey Rudel, Prince of Blaye-en-Saintonge.’
I shook my head.
‘Never met him, I'm afraid. Pal of yours?’
‘He lived in the middle ages. He was a great poet. And he fell in love with the wife of the Lord of Tripoli.’
I stirred uneasily. I hoped she was going to keep it clean.
‘For years he loved her, and at last he could resist no longer. He took ship to Tripoli, and his servants carried him ashore.’
‘Not feeling so good?’ I said, groping. ‘Rough crossing?’
‘He was dying. Of love.’
‘Oh. Ah.’
‘They bore him into the Lady Melisande's presence on a litter, and he had just strength enough to reach out and touch her hand. Then he died.’
She paused, and heaved a sigh that seemed to come straight up from the cami-knickers. A silence ensued.
‘Terrific,’ I said, feeling I had to say something, though personally I didn't think the story a patch on the one about the travelling salesman and the farmer's daughter. Different, of course, if one had known the chap.
She sighed again.
Notes
I was granted permission by Random House UK Ltd to reproduce this passage in the 1994 anthology. I’m including it here in the full knowledge that I don’t have permission to use it online, but to come across a mention of Rudel in one of my all-time favourite books was too spiffing for me to be able to resist sticking it in.
